


Deciphered

by Raisans_Grapeon



Series: Letters Left on your Desk [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with no happy ending, Detectives, Friendship, Me killing my partner, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Serial Killers, Stabbing, could be seen as slash, im sorry i love you bae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 13:51:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17044925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raisans_Grapeon/pseuds/Raisans_Grapeon
Summary: He, Detective C.C. Tinsley, had finally discovered who the Golden Killer was. A man named Ricky Goldsworth. All that he needed to do, was drop a line to the police department and get all of his evidence down, and Mr. Goldsworth is behind bars.But it’s never that easy.





	Deciphered

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for sitting in on another fan fiction of mine.
> 
> Just a little before you start, critique is always appreciated. Any and all would be encouraged.
> 
> Also, thank you to my partner for aiding in figuring out what Ricky's signature would be. I love you!
> 
> Okay, enjoy!

The sun had long since set over the LA skyline, the sky now drenched in black without the moon, but the bustling city below was a beacon up to the heavens, clouding the stars and lighting the sky. Cars rolled down asphalt roads, and many honked loudly, in a rush to get to nowhere, fast. Four stories above the nightlife, was C.C. Tinsley, looking like a disheveled mess, but he was happy. Estatic, even. He had the biggest grin anyone would have ever seen on the usually serious detective. In front of him, was a board, that had scraps of newspaper clippings, random napkins, letters, sticky notes, photographs, everything you could have imagined, pinned up. Every piece of paper had something about the Golden Killer scawled, or neatly printed on it. Along the top of the board, there were 5 photographs, with the person’s name underneath. Above them all was a piece of paper that was haphazardly tapped to the rim of the board that said, “Suspects.” Red string connected everything together, weaving in and out in a stunning and abstract display of determination. Every string now tied back to one of the suspects, the other four now successfully detached from the rest of the board. Now, there was only one to blame for 9 months of work, 27 deaths, and 4 wounded. 

Ricky Goldsworth.

28 years old, brown skinned, black haired male with quite the medical history. Friends and family noted that he was always overly polite, and neat. Every clue the anonymous “Gold” had left behind drew back to Ricky. It all clicked into place. Tinsley figured it out, and he couldn’t be happier. Months of torment were over. Families would finally have some closure, and millions others would not need to bear the burden of losing a child, or partner again from the hands of the Golden Killer. It was all finally over. 

Tinsley banged his hand on the wall with joy, jumping lightly in place. “Yes!,” he exclaimed rather loudly. He couldn’t care less at the moment if someone heard him making a racket. “It’s over! I got you now, Ricky Goldsworth!!” It felt so good to be able to say the killers name, now all his threats and accusations landing on a person, not air. He laughed painfully, brain scrambling to remember what he had to do next. “Call the pd, call the pd, I need to speak with the chief!” He muttered it out, body severely lagging behind as everything seemed to spin too fast for anything align.

C.C. Tinsley heard a slow clap behind him, and everything stopped. The detective stilled, eyes wide. They were no longer filled with joy, and the buzz of a job well done, but instead, there was apprehension, and fear. There was no one at the door, for he was standing right next to it, and some light from the hallway would have spilled in already. He didn’t have another soul in his room that he had invited in. Only one person knew how to open his window. 

“Well, Tinman. You deciphered it!” The voice was too smug, too confident. It took control of the room in an instant, calling Tinsley to turn around and face the person he had been hunting for months. It spoke again. “I must say, it took you quite a long time, old sport. But this, this is worth it.” The detective could hear his shit eating grin.

Tinsley tried to look over his shoulder without moving a muscle, eyebrows furrowed. His finger twitched, itching to get to his loaded revolver that he always carried on him. The tension in the air was palpable, and Tinsley felt as though he couldn’t breathe. A heartbeat passed, and the detective swiveled around, pivoting on the ball of his right foot quickly to pant his left foot back down quickly in a wide stance. His tan trench coat unfurled out, the momentum carrying it across the air, causing it to puff up. His hand landed on the holster that held the silvery revolver, and pulled it out in a flash, arm straightening to point it at the first human his eyes could catch. A small, darker skinned man sitting at his desk, with a rather bemused look on his face. It made Tinsley sneer. His other hand gripped the gun as well, training it on the forehead of the raven haired man, who was named Ricky Goldsworth, or Gold as he so cleverly dubbed himself in every letter C.C. Tinsley ever got from the man. That didn’t matter now. 

Ricky held his hands up in defense, but he was clearly not concerned. “Woah, friend! Jumpy, aren’t we? Just simmer down, Tinman.” He stood, leaning back onto one foot. His smile struck fear into the taller man. How was it possible that someone whom C.C. Dwarfed, could seem like he dominated the room?

“Don’t move, Ricky Goldsworth.” Tinsley didn’t get the same satifaction he got when he said the culprit’s name aloud the first time. 

Ricky didn’t listen, striding over slowly, his eyes glinting dangerously. His hands fell, wrapping around his back to clasp together. “I don’t take orders from you, Tinsley.” He stopped, standing two feet away from the pastey white man. “I never have as Gold, and won’t as Ricky. Now,” his smirk was tugged up higher on his cheek as spoke, “I really do have to congratulate you. I always knew you were the only formitable adversary for me. It was a fun run, if I do say so myself.”

Tinsley didn’t like the way the killer spoke. “Yes. But it’s over now. I’ve got you now. You try to run, I shoot you. You try to fight, I shoot you. You come willingly, maybe I’ll bring you your favorite sandwich every now and then.”

A light tisk. “Oh, dear Tinman. Dear, sweet, harmless, Tinman.” Tinsley gripped his revolver tighter, but his trigger finger shook. Goldsworth stared at Tinsley dead in the eyes, not an ounce of fear present. Tinsley was sure that Ricky could see his thoughts. “You won’t shoot me.” Every syllable was demeaning and belittling, like Ricky was talking to a child. 

Tinsley gritted his teeth, trying to harden his resolve. “Wanna bet?”

Goldsworth snickered. “Sure! Why not. Come on, C.C. Tinsley.” He spread his arms open wide, fully exposing his chest. “Shoot the Golden Killer. I’m quite the prize.”

Tinsley inhaled deeply, eyes narrowing. The barrel of the gun was trained on Goldsworth’s forehead, C.C. taking deep breaths as thoughts ran rampant through his mind. Every idea, memory, and thought pass through in mere seconds. Nine months worth of letters flashed all at once. Familiar words, jokes shared. It made Tinsley’s head swim. He knew Gold as more than just a man who enjoyed killing. And now, Gold had a face, and a definitive name. Tinsley’s face softened in another second. His eyes traitorously revealed every conflicting emotion. He never wanted to kill Ricky. Something in his mind pulled, and no longer had the resolve to fire. Regrettably, Tinsley saw Ricky as a weird pen pal, and one he had gotten too attached to. 

It was only another second. Tinsley had only blinked. Apparently, a second was all Ricky Goldsworth needed to disappear from the detective’s sight. A heartbeat, and a knife sharp pain blossomed in his chest. He felt a foreign warmth pressed into his chest, but Tinsley was frozen, eyes wide and unseeing as he stared forward. It was so hard to breath, and a rough cough managed to squeeze it’s way out. A torrent of blood followed out, spilling past his lips, and dripping over his stubble covered chin. C.C. couldn’t remember when he started to shake, but his lungs rattled nonetheless. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, head falling down to see what had just happened. There was a gloved hand, in a suit, holding what looked like a dagger. The point had been thrust upwards, pushing up under his rib cage, and presumably puncturing his lung. 

A hushed voice spoke into his ear. “Sorry friend, but the legend must live.”

Tinsley didn’t -couldn’t- look up. The sight of blood creeping across his pressed white shirt far to fascinating, in the morbid way. The pain drummed in his head, making him inhale sharply, but that only worsened it as his organs scrapped past the blade. The detective dropped his revolver, and used both hands to gingerly cradle the arm that held him there. Another horse cough, his body trying to clear the liquid out of his lungs. Each breath burned unbelievably. More tears gathered, clouding his vision. He didn’t know quite what he expected. Being stabbed by a serial killer that you just figured out? What a shocker. It still hurt.

Ricky spoke again. “You understand… don’t you?” It was hard to decipher his tone in the moment. 

Tinsley slumped forward, fully collapsing into Goldsworth and subsequently jostling the knife around. He only hissed, and chuckled. “You’re … a fucking asshole.”

Ricky nodded against the dying detective’s shoulder. “Yeah. So you keep telling me.”

“I’ll see you in hell, Goldsworth,” C.C. rasped. 

The notion made Ricky laugh weakly. To Tinsley, it almost sounded sorrowful. “As if you’d go to hell, Tinman.” 

“...”

“Plus, you don’t even believe in that stuff, right… Old sport?”

C.C. Tinsley no longer responded.

Ricky Goldsworth let out a hefty sigh, lowering himself down to rest the detective’s body down on his office floor. Now that the killer had a good view of his most recent crime, he could see the sheer amount of blood that had spilled out of the lanky man. The knife slipped out with ease. Tinman was still. Ricky propped the limp man against the office wall, and remained kneeled in front of him. It didn’t even look like a Gold killing. There was a respect for the victim long after he died. Goldsworth gripped the knife tighter and let his head hang low, strands of raven black hair falling out of place. “I’m sorry, Tinsley. I couldn’t be found out. You know that, right?” A little part of him hopped that ghosts were real, so his friend could hear his confession. “I really did like you. I couldn’t have trusted anyone else to figure me out. I just… wish you didn’t. I really wish you weren’t so bright, Tinsley.” Goldsworth lifted his head up to stare at the lidded eyes of C.C. Tinsley. “But if you weren’t, we wouldn’t have been such good friends, now would we?” Something burned the killer’s eyes, making him blink rapidly. “You just couldn’t be ignorant for a few more weeks. So fucking impatient.”

Ricky stood, ignoring the blood soaking the carpeted floor and fused his blazer to his dress shirt. He was more intent on removing any progress that Tinsley had made. He tore the cork board off the wall, and placed it on the fire escape outside the window. He cleaned out every paper and file on the “Golden Killer” he could find, and especially any file or paper that remotely mentioned “Ricky Goldsworth.” Whoever came next in the investigation lineup would not be mooching off of his friend’s accomplishments and smarts. Every file and paper was shoved into a burlap sack that was also outside. It was a quick and surprisingly silent job. It would be a while till someone found C.C. Tinsley’s body. He used his free hand to dig into his pocket, pulling out a delicate leaf, painted gold. He held his arm over the paler body, and let the delicate leaf go, watching it slow dance down before alighting on Tinman’s leg. 

Just as Ricky was about to leave, body already halfway out the window, he caught sight of a picture frame that he didn’t remember seeing before. It was in the very bottom drawer of Tinman’s desk, which was opened slightly. It was the picture that Ricky had drawn that one time, of them holding hands. Goldsworth was taken aback. Tinsley actually framed his picture. Like his own child made it and he was so damn proud of it. Underneath, was a clearly used map, and an old worn book about manners and etiquette. That was almost the tipping point for Ricky, but the serial killer kept his composure, and pulled the framed photo out delicately.

In a snap, the killer escaped, his most recent victim slumbering against the wall of his own office, with a unnatural gold leaf rocking dreamily on a bloody pant leg.


End file.
